I Told You You Look Good In A Tie
by Huddlesnumba9
Summary: Sad. Really sad. Set after No Reason. House and Cuddy go somewhere important.


_An: Set after No Reason. Wrote it awhile ago. Don't own [H]ouse, or serious changes would be made._

"You take forever." House informed Cuddy while looking through her closet.

She came back into her room from her bathroom. She looked beautiful, but very tired. She had on a black pencil skirt, and a matching black blazer. She had cut her hair, and started wearing it curly, like she had when he'd first met her. He noticed she didn't have any mascara on. "It takes a long time to look this good," she informed without the usual playful tone.

"I think I'd much prefer for you to wear this," he faced her, pulling a short red cocktail dress out of her closet and holding it up to her. "I think this would go nicely with..." He bent down, and straightened up almost immediately, thanks to Cuddy's obessive cleanliness, and held out a pair of red strappy stiletos.

"Not exactly the occasion to dress like a prostitute." She walked away from him and to her dresser, she grabbed something and returned to her spot in front of him. "Here," she pressed a two toned blue tie to his chest, "put this on. I want you to look decent for this."

"But Mom..." He whined. "They're itchy, and you already got me in this monkey suit." He pulled at the pant leg of his suit. His shirt was ironed and buttoned up, so for once you couldn't see the t-shirt underneath.

"You look nice in a tie," she told him, almost sadly.

He looked down at her sad, solem face, and put back his desired pick for her attire. He was done kidding right now, it wasn't making her feel better. House held up the tie, "Do it for me?"

Cuddy nodded, and took it from him. She turned, "We have to go, we're gonna be late." House followed her out of the room, passing his cane that lay on the edge of her bed. They drove in silence, House occasionally turning up the volume when a particularly obnoxtious song came on, and Cuddy always turning it down. After awhile, he finally gave up and let her stare at the road in silence. They pulled into the parking lot, and got out. House walked along side Cuddy over the grass, and the closer they got to their destination, Cuddy noticed his limp got better and better. Cuddy's usual confident stride faultered as she saw the casket at the end of the rows of chairs. House put his hand on her lower back, as, oddly, a comforting and encouraging gesture. She took a deep breath, and continued down the aisle, she stopped when she got to the front and took a seat next to Wilson, House going to her right. House nodded to Wilson solemly. The red rimmed eyed oncologist smiled. Cuddy smiled back at him, trying to keep back her tears. He slipped his hand into hers and squeezed. She squeezed back and held onto it even when he moved his hand back to his thigh. She needed something to hold onto. Wilson looked down at the tie poking out of her purse, and gave her a look. She nodded jerkily, clenching her jaw, trying to not start bawling. Preparing herself. Wilson let go of her hand so she could get the tie, she immediately felt unstable. She needed her boys, both of them. House's large hand rested on top of hers gently, and his fingers slid between her thumb and pointer finger. He squeezed her hand reassuringly, and just as gently. So softly, she couldn't feel it. Cuddy relied on her eyes, but she didn't even feel comfortable doing that. Cuddy stood, Wilson doing the same, and he followed behind her to the open casket.

She looked down at the bane and purpose of her existance. Dr. Gregory House lie in the pine box. He looked like he was sleeping. And she wished he was, that any moment, a smirk would form on his smug face, and he would ask Wilson in a whisper if she was buying this. She would prefer the rage that would come with that insanely cruel practical joke over the devastating grief, and anger at everything that contributed to this moment. She put her hand on his chest, and the absence of the _thump thump_ that should have been there made her want to cry. She slid the tie in his collar under his neck and tied it. "I told you you look good in a tie," she said quietly and put her hand on his cheek. It was cold. Her hand slid down his neck, her eyes not leaving the right side of his neck, the stitches done post mortem just so there wasn't a large hole where a bullet had ripped through. There had just been too much bleeding, the surgeons had done everything they could, but it wasn't enough, and Wilson had to restrain her from firing everyone that had done anything even remotely related to his surgery. Her hand stopped below his throat, the tips of her fingers resting on his sternum. Cuddy must have been standing there longer than she realized, because Wilson put both his hands on her arms and squeezed, signaling that it was time to go. She ducked her head slightly and put her fingers to her mouth to hide the tears threatening to jump the border of her eyelashes to escape down her cheeks as Wilson led her back to their seats.

She glanced up briefly to the empty seat she would sit next to, because he really was gone.


End file.
